


Frost

by justdk



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Rise of the Guardians AU, Sort Of, roah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 02:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17499710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justdk/pseuds/justdk
Summary: An AU in which Noah is Jack Frost and Ronan is a very lonely guy missing someone he can't remember





	Frost

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Super Blood Wolf Moon

Ronan stood at the window and looked out over the silent fields and sloping hills, the clusters of buildings, and the still slumbering backs of his father’s herd. The landscape was painted grey and silver under the light of the full moon. The stars stood out sharply in the night sky, as if trying to shine brighter than the moon. His warm breath fogged the cold window and he felt a draft seeping from the around the sill. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and shivered.

The fields winked and sparkled, the grass touched with frost. It was lovely. Ronan listened to the steady tick of the clock and felt a familiar pang of loneliness. He had worked so hard to get back here – back to his childhood home – believing in his bones that once he had returned everything would be alright, _he_ would be alright. He hadn’t counted on the solitude eating away at his hard-won peace. But without his parents and without his brothers the echoing rooms were too quiet. He missed Matthew’s easy laughter and soft smiles; he even missed Declan’s acerbic commentary and wry looks.

Ronan sighed and watched the fog on the glass slowly recede, revealing the piercingly beautiful view. But then the fog was replaced by frost, its icy patterns swirling across the glass. Ronan watched transfixed as the frost spread, moving too fast. He touched the glass and the cold was so sharp that it burned his finger. He gasped and pulled back, sticking his finger in his mouth, sucking on it and trying to return some heat. It wasn’t possible to get frost burn like that, was it?

He heard an eerie peel of laughter, muted by the window, thrown on a sudden gust of wind that set the trees branches tossing, their bare limbs silhouetted against the stars. Ronan had the strangest feeling of déjà vu. He had heard that laugh before. He closed his eyes and tried to chase down the memory.

_It had been achingly cold outside. He and Matthew had discovered that the water trough had frozen over during the night, the ice solid and clear. They had scrambled up and skidded over the ice, their boots slipping. Ronan’s ears were burning from the cold, his nose running but he didn’t want to go in for a hat or scarf. He and Matthew had held hands and spun around on the ice until they both collapsed. Even though Matthew was giggling and demanding to do it again, Aurora had come out to get him, telling him he had been outside too long. Ronan had pouted and refused to go inside. The day was too perfect and there was a wildness thrumming in his blood. He had run off, jumping in snowdrifts, following the trail of animal prints in the snow, hoping to scare up a fox. At the eve of the forest he had heard a laugh, mischievous and taunting. He knew immediately that it was not Declan, or Matthew._

_“Hello?” Ronan had called out, his voice loud in the snow muffled landscape._

_His voice came back to him, high pitched, mimicking, “Hello?”_

_Ronan frowned. He didn’t like to be mocked. “Fine. If you won’t come out then I’m leaving,” he had warned._

_And then, like a magic trick, a boy had appeared, stepping out from behind an oak tree. He was older than Ronan, probably older than Declan. He was rail thin and tall. There was something feral about him, his clothes faded and ragged, his white hair hanging into his eyes. His left cheek looked wrong, bruised or hollowed out._

_Ronan had taken a step back, intimidated by the strange boy with his bare feet and too pale skin. Frost glittered on his jacket._

_The boy crouched down until he was at Ronan’s eye level. He waved and smiled, his teeth white and sharp._

_“Hello,” the boy said, his voice clear and unaccented. “Are you enjoying the snow?” He said it like he had something to do with the perfect mounds of snow._

_Ronan licked his bottom lip, his skin dry from the cold and the wind. “Who are you?” Ronan asked._

_“You don’t remember?” The boy looked crushed and Ronan felt bad. He felt a tickle in his mind, earlier memories that had been buried by countless days of fun._

_“I’m sorry,” Ronan said, twisting his gloves._

_“Well, it can’t be helped,” the boy sighed. He blew out a breath of ice crystals that danced in the air before settling in his hair like a crown. “You can call my Jack Frost.” He held his hand up for a high five and Ronan leaned forward and smacked his palm, the sound muffled by his thick glove. “Cool beans,” Jack laughed and Ronan rolled his eyes._

_“No one says that,” Ronan muttered. Jack squinted at him._

_“Awesome sauce?” Jack tried again._

_Ronan laughed. “Awesome sauce,” he agreed. The more he talked to Jack the more familiar the boy became. The memories didn’t return but he knew they had done this before, knew they were friends. He wasn’t afraid any longer, only curious._

_“So…” Jack said, leaning in like he was going to tell Ronan a secret, “want to go check out the creek?”_

_“Yeah!”_

_Jack had raced off into the woods and Ronan tried to keep up, chasing after the back of Jack’s navy blue jacket. He laughed and laughed, feeling free and tireless._

A tap on the window drew Ronan from his memories and he blinked, startled. He looked out the window but of course no one was there. It was only the full moon and the stars.

Another rap and this time Ronan realized it was from a pebble hitting his window. He strained his eyes, trying to make out if someone was standing in the shadow of the house. His heart drummed against his ribs. It was one thing to wish for companionship, it was something else entirely to have a strange _someone_ throwing rocks at your window when you were home alone with no one around for miles.

Ronan stepped back from the window and tried to remember if the doors were locked. He could never remember to lock them, no matter how much Declan nagged him about it. The clock struck and the haunting music of bagpipes filled the room. Ronan nearly leapt out of his skin, turning around like there might actually be a phantom piper in the room.

 _Screech_.

A noise like nails on a chalk board came from the window and Ronan whipped back around, watching as letters scraped over then glass: _come play_.

Ronan had one clear thought: _fuck no_.

A snowball hit the window next and now Ronan was really concerned. There was no snow outside. Was there?

He tiptoed down the stairs, moving silently through the dark house. The fire in the den was burned down to embers, barely providing any light but Ronan knew this house and could navigate it in total darkness. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone but right now he craved the fire’s meager light because the dark was filled with unknowns. He felt scared. He felt haunted.

Cold danced over the back of his neck, stuffed up his nose and made him sneeze.

“Bless you!” A cheerful voice called out from behind Ronan.

Ronan yelped.

He spun around so fast that his neck twinged. His fists raised automatically and he fell into a fighter’s stance before he had even locked in on his target.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa there, buddy!” The guy said, holding his palms out in front of him.

Ronan blinked and cocked his head, taking in his intruder. It was the boy from his memory. He was unchanged, right down to the odd mark on his face and his bare feet.

“Jack Frost?” Ronan asked, feeling like an idiot. Everyone knew that Jack Frost wasn’t a real person, just a fairytale.

“You remember!” Jack jumped up and down and clapped his hands. Ronan hadn’t remembered Jack being this… exuberant. “It’s been  _years_ , Ronan. I kept wondering when you would come back.”

Ronan rubbed the back of his neck and looked Jack over. The last time they had met Ronan had been nine and innocent as the snow. Now he couldn’t help noticing things about Jack that he liked.

“I was at school,” Ronan explained. He frowned. “Couldn’t you have visited me at school?”

“I- I tried,” Jack stammered. He pulled at the collar of his shirt and looked away. “You never noticed me, not even when I stood right in front of you and said your name.”

“Oh.” Ronan could tell that it bothered Jack, that he was upset. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Jack waved him off and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Everyone forgets me, eventually. Everyone grows up.”

“But not you.”

Jack shook his head sadly. “Not me.”

“Is that why you scared me earlier?” Ronan asked. “Because you were mad?”

“Ha!” Jack’s laugh was sharp. “You do not want to see me mad, Ronan Lynch. And no, I was just being my trickster self.” He shrugged. “I can’t help it.”

Ronan shifted awkwardly. He suddenly realized how near he was standing to Jack, and how the room, lit by the barest amount of light from the fireplace, felt close and intimate. All of his other encounters with Jack Frost had taken place outdoors and had involved games and races, playing happily in the snow or on the ice. He had to wonder, what was Jack doing now, in his home?

“I don’t want to go play outside,” Ronan said, just in case that was what Jack had in mind.

“Okay.” Jack rubbed his hands over his arms and his gaze skirted from Ronan to the floor to the couch to the ceiling. He looked so ill at ease that it made Ronan feel oddly protective.

“How about some hot chocolate?” Ronan suggested. “If you drink, that is.”

Jack bobbed his head. “I don’t have to eat or drink, but I do, when refreshments are offered.”

Ronan snorted and headed for the kitchen, Jack trailing behind him. As he grabbed two mugs and pulled ingredients from the fridge and cupboard, Ronan wondered again about why Jack had returned to visit. In the past he had been the one following Jack’s lead. Now Jack seemed lost, unsure of what to do. He leaned against the counter and drummed his fingers restlessly over the countertop.

“So…” Ronan prodded while he added ingredients to the pan. “Why are you back?”

Jack sighed and the kitchen was momentarily chilled and tiny snowflakes spun through the air before disappearing.

“I felt a pull,” Jack said quietly, one hand pressed over his chest. “It ached and burned, tugging me all the way from Central Park to here.”

Ronan stirred the mixture. “You think I pulled you here?”

Jack nodded. “I know you did.” He propped his chin in his hand and regarded Ronan with an intense gaze. “You’re lonely.”

Ronan couldn’t deny it and he wouldn’t lie. “Everyone gets lonely,” he said.

Jack moved around the counter until he was standing next to Ronan. Ronan realized that he was taller than Jack now, broader. He realized how _old_ Jack looked, an ancient weariness that was only evident in his washed out blue eyes.

“Tell me, Ronan,” Jack whispered, “when was the last time that you  _dreamed_?”

His chilly fingertips grazed Ronan’s wrist and Ronan shivered. He knew from the inflection on the last word that Jack knew, somehow, about his ability to take from dreams, to create. Jack’s fingers retreated but Ronan grabbed them, took Jack’s hand in both of his and pulled it to his mouth. He blew on Jack’s cold fingers and rubbed them between his palms. A silvered blush rose on Jack’s face. Up close Ronan could finally see that the mark on his cheek was a wound, old and unhealed, frozen in time.

Ronan touched Jack’s face. “What happened here?”

Jack shuddered and tilted his head away, his unkempt hair falling over the side of his face. “Your hot chocolate is boiling,” he said.

Ronan swore and turned the burner off. Thankfully the hot chocolate hadn’t boiled over or burned. He tipped it into the mugs and sprayed generous amounts of whipped cream on top. Lastly he pulled out some edible glitter – one of his more fanciful dreamed items – and dusted Jack’s hot chocolate in silver glitter before handing it to him.

“Careful,” Ronan warned, “it’s hot.”

Jack smirked. “Compared to me, everything is hot.”

“I don’t know,” Ronan said, casually, “you’re pretty hot.”

Jack choked on his hot chocolate.

They returned to the den and Ronan added a few logs to the fire, chasing the chill from the room. Jack curled up on one end of the couch, looking so cozy and relaxed that Ronan had a hard time believing that this was his first time being here, in the house. Ronan enjoyed the company.

“What?” Jack asked. He tugged at his jacket.

Ronan smiled over the top of his mug. “Nothing. I just… like this, having you here with me.”

Jack flushed and slurped at his hot chocolate.

“Was that too much?” Ronan asked. He wasn’t adept at flirting and living out here by his lonesome didn’t help.

“No.” Jack gripped his mug between his hands and looked into the flames. Then he looked back at Ronan, _really_ looked at him like he was trying to read his thoughts. “Obviously I don’t get moments like this in my every day life.” He cleared his throat. “I’m a bit rusty.”

“You came to _me_ ,” Ronan reminded him, leaning across the cushions.

“ _You_ called me,” Jack countered, also leaning forward, their noses nearly touching.

Jack’s cool breath ghosted over Ronan’s lips and their eyes locked. Ronan had so many questions; so much he wanted to know about this strange being known as Jack Frost. But greater than his desire for truth was his need to find out what Jack’s lips felt like, to discover his taste, to find out if it was possible to warm his wintery skin.

Ronan took the leap, closing the space between them and kissing Jack soundly on the mouth.

Jack’s lips were frigid but soft and yielding under Ronan’s. He tasted like hot chocolate and, faintly, of pine. He did not warm and Ronan had to pull back, his lips and tongue numb from cold. His entire face tingled, but not unpleasantly.

Jack stared at him, surprise and happiness shining from his eyes. He reached up and touched his mouth, ran his tongue over his lips.

“You’re so warm,” Jack whispered and his eyelids fluttered, his lips curling into a soft smile. “I felt that,” he continued, “everywhere.”

Ronan grinned. He felt sufficiently thawed and ready for more. “Me too,” he said, his heart racing. He felt almost unbearably hot, from his lips down. He reached for Jack and cupped the uninjured side of his face. “You can feel that, right?”

“Yes!” Jack held Ronan’s hand and kissed his palm before licking at it. “You’re like…” Jack’s eyes went hazy. “Like how I remember fire being… like the sun.”

This time Jack leaned in and kissed Ronan, like he could drink the fire from his veins and soak up his nineteen summers spent beneath the sun.

Later, when Ronan was tired and dawn was breaking, they sunk into the cushions and Jack told Ronan his story. Not all of it, for it was a very long tale. “One long enough for the entire winter,” Jack said. “A winter’s tale.”

“If you start now,” Ronan told him, “you’ll be nearly done by spring.” Jack smiled fondly and rubbed his palm over Ronan’s scalp.

The story was sad, maybe the saddest story Ronan had ever heard. It was about a boy named Noah, a boy who had a best friend that he followed everywhere, that he believed in. But the friend was not a good person. He used Noah and, after losing everything, he sacrificed Noah to get it back. Noah’s death was tragic, his life ending before it had scarcely begun. His dreams, his beautiful ideas… gone.

For many people, the world over, this would have been the end of the story. But Noah had died on a ley line, a conduit of energy. He had been a sacrifice to the line and he was granted a gift, a new existence.

“The man in the moon,” Jack said solemnly, “looked down on me, bleeding into the earth, and he gave me a name: Jack Frost.” He waved his hand and frost scurried across the coffee table.

“I thought Jack Frost was very old,” Ronan said.

“Yes, he is. I am.” Jack – Noah – sighed. “Time,” he pointed to the clock, “is not linear.”

Ronan blinked sleepily. His head was resting on a pillow in Jack’s lap and Jack reached down to trail his fingers over Ronan’s forehead. He pulled the fleece blanket up around Ronan’s shoulders.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” Jack said. “There has always been a Jack Frost, even if he was not me.”

Ronan yawned. “If you say so,” he murmured.

“I say so,” Jack grinned. He leaned down and pressed a frosty kiss to Ronan’s temple. “Now sleep, Ronan. Sleep and dream me something magical.”

And Ronan did. When he woke Jack was gone but the memories of last night were intact, crisp and sparkling like the icy message scrawled on the windshield of the BMW – _next time I expect you to take me on a ride XO Jack_

Ronan laughed and pulled Jack’s gift from his pocket: a pair of mittens that could warm even the coldest hands. He would start with mittens and maybe, by winter’s end, he would have found a way to completely warm up Jack Frost.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr @dkafterdark


End file.
